The Cycle turns, four seasons to the measure of a year
The Spring reminds us life's begun, and Summer's almost here
The Autumn teaches us both past and present hold their fear
And Winter, too, reminds us that our deaths are always near

Remember what your bloodshed's for, that emptiness within you-
that space is for HER love to fill your flesh, your bone, your sinew-
and though the bloodshed you have sworn must endlessly continue-
your want, your passion, hungers, joys, will always quest to win you.

One season is for dying, the other three for thriving:
so why not live defiantly, and celebrate surviving?
One time of four's for dying, the other three for striving
listen close, and you might hear sweet Paradise arriving

Your arms aren't only made for harms, nor consecrated violence
the Serpent's quiet lessons don't demand your constant silence
the Fury's meant for tempering, not for your only guidance
the Wildfire demands that ash be sown for Her abidance

K'y'lee'nn, the Redwood tree, drinks deeply from the waters
That drank their fill in turn from SHE, WHO mothers- too, and fathers
for every speck of life that's penned upon our world: SHE authors
find some calm - the Redwood's balm! - don't let your scars be pothers.

One season is for dying, the other three for thriving:
so why not live defiantly, and celebrate surviving?
One time of four's for dying, the other three for striving
listen close, and you might hear sweet Paradise arriving.

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 25th of Omeian, in the year 14 AC.